SECTION SEVENTY left Paris for May-en-Multien on July 8, 1917,
and on July 14 came back to Paris to take over its section of
Fiat cars, then at Versailles. On July 16 it left Versailles
en convoi for Noyon. After a week here it went to Rollot,
near Montdidier, en repos with the 53d Division. On August
9 it returned to Noyon, and on August 13 was attached to the
38th Colonial Division at Bas-Beaurains. On August 20 it moved
with the Division to the Aisne front, being cantoned at Missy-aux-Bois.
On August 28 it moved to Sermoise, on the Aisne, and its Division
went into line directly in front of Fort Malmaison. The Section
served postes at Jouy, Aizy, and the Ferme Hameret,
just under the Chemin des Dames Plateau. Vailly was the reserve
poste, and Chassemy, and later Cerseuil were the evacuation
hospitals. On September 23 it went en repos for a week
at Écuiry, near Septmonts, back of the Aisne, returning
to its old sector and cantonment on October 1. It worked there
through the Fort Malmaison attack of October 23 until November
1, when the Fiats were abandoned and the men enlisted in the
U.S. Army and took over the Fords of S.S.U. Eighteen, becoming
Section Six-Thirty-Six.

SECTION SEVENTY was officially formed at May-en-Multien on
July 13, 1917, composed at that time of thirty-six men, the larger
part of whom were from a Leland Stanford unit which went over
in June on the Rochambeau. We left Crouy on the morning
of July 14, going first to Paris, where we were joined by nine
men who had come over on La Touraine, and going the next
day to Versailles, took over a section of Fiat cars. The Section
was under the leadership of Arthur J. Putnam, formerly of Section
Nineteen.

On July 16 we left Versailles, and, making a détour
of Paris, went out, through Senlis and Compiègne to Noyon.
After waiting a week in Noyon we were attached to the 53d Division,
then back en repos at Rollot, near Montdidier. We stayed
with the 53d until August 3, when it left for the front --- and
left us behind. We were very indignant until the French Automobile
Service informed us that under the new "économiser
1'essence" régime, it was forbidden for an ambulance
section to follow its division over a distance of more than two
armies --- unless some other army had crying need for more ambulances.
As the Division was going to Craonne, we were detached. So we
again went back to Noyon to wait, and on August 13 were attached
to the famous 38th French Colonial Division, then en repos
near by. We were justly proud of this Division, which comprised
the 4th Zouaves, the Colonial Régiment du Maroc,
the 4th Mixte, the 8th Tirailleurs, and a detachment
of Somalis --- regiments already wearing the fourragères
of the Croix de Guerre and Médaille Militaire,
and to whose famed standards many more decorations were to be
added before the war was ended.

On August 20 the Division moved to the Aisne, and shortly thereafter
took up positions on the Chemin des Dames. We were cantoned at
Sermoise, about ten kilometres east of Soissons, which city we
were able to visit often; and when the Division went into line,
our postes were in Vailly, Aizy, Jouy, and the Ferme
Hameret.

On September 7 we were visited by United States recruiting
officers, who were full of promises. Thirty-six out of the forty-five
in the Section enlisted in the newly created U.S. Army Ambulance
Service with the French Army, while most of those who did not
enlist left, in the latter part of October, for Paris or America,
and many of them entered, later, various other branches of the
French or American armies.

On September 17 the Section moved back with the Division to
Écuiry for a short rest. To Écuiry, too, some of
us came back, still conducteurs pour la France, after Foch's
counter-attack of July 18, 1918 had driven the Germans from the
Aisne-Marne salient.

On October 1, 1918, our Division again went into line in its
old sector. We gave up the Ferme Hameret poste as our Division
now occupied a shorter front. One interesting change was the moving
of the hospital from Chassemy, about seven kilometres from, the
lines, to Cerseuils on the hill above Braisne, about eighteen
kilometres from the line. German airmen had dropped notes in which
it was stated that the Germans intended to shell the district
around there and would shell the hospital if it were not moved.
The French agreeably moved the hospital farther back and installed
in its place a barbed-wire pen for German prisoners! Needless
to say, the Germans did not carry out their threat.

On October 17 the artillery bombardment preparatory to the
attack began, when it was estimated that 3800 guns were used covering
a front of eleven kilometres. At five-fifteen on the morning of
the 23d, the infantry advanced, at seven all the ambulances were
called out, and the postes were soon crowded to overflowing.
Most of the wounded who were able to walk went down to a point
slightly below Vailly, where they were taken en masse by
camions to the hospital.

The 38th Division came out of line during the night of October
30, and the following morning a decoration of various members
of the Service de Santé was held at Vailly, in which
seven of our members received the Croix de Guerre. Then
on October 31, Section Seventy was broken up. The Fiats were turned
in at the parc at Vierzy, and the following day we left
for Paris, twenty-four of us to go out and take over old Section
Eighteen, eleven to fill in Section Sixteen, and the rest to scatter.

ROBERT A. DONALDSON*

*Of Denver, Colorado; Leland Stanford, '17; served in Section
Seventy of the Field Service, and continued in the U.S.A. Ambulance
Service until the Armistice. Author of Turmoil, Houghton
Mifflin Company, 1919, and with Lansing Warren, En Repos and
Elsewhere, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1918.

II

LIEUTENANT GIBILY

Sermoise, September 3

WE have been doing front work now for about a week and have
had a good try-out in a very interesting sector. It is a great
satisfaction to be doing something at last and our morale has
gone up several points since we started in. The fellows take to
front work like ducks to water, and if the Fiats only hold out,
I am sure that we shall come through with flying colors.

Lieutenant Prévost has been replaced by Lieutenant Gibily,
the officer in charge of the French Ambulance section we relieved
when we joined the 38th Division. Lieutenant Gibily has been with
this Division for over two years and seems to be very well liked
by every one who has known him. The fellows like him as much as
I do, and, despite the fact that he can hardly speak a word of
English, he always manages to have a pleasant word for everybody,
and when he can't make himself understood in either French or
English, he acts out whatever he has to say in pantomime, which
is enough to bring down the house; and best of all, his sense
of humor never fails him. Although in civilian life he is connected
with a wholesale chemical company, his chief interest in life
seems to be nineteenth-century French poetry, and his most vicious
boast is that be knows ten thousand lines of verse by heart including
all of Cyrano de Bergerac. His present aim is to learn
English, and before coming to the Section he supplied himself
with two second-hand textbooks. The one which he prefers and from
which he studies constantly must have been written about the time
of Shakespeare or shortly after, and to hear him read off this
obsolete English in the most serious way and with an accent all
his own, is funny enough. I have been doing my best to help him
out, but it is a rather hard job. In order that you won't get
a very one-sided impression of the man, I ought to add that he
is a fine-looking chap with a very military manner, has served
in both the infantry and artillery early in the war and has been
badly wounded in the leg. Also he has been decorated four times.

FORT MALMAISON!

ARRIVAL OF A "COUCHÉ"
FROM THE TRENCHES ON A "BROUETTE"

Sermoise is not a village, but only the remains of one, and
lies on the main road between Soissons and Reims. All of the houses
have suffered and many have been razed to the ground. Of the church
only a part is left standing, and that, with its whitewashed interior
laid bare, looks like a great, pale, ruined monument of desolation.
The men are quartered, as at Rollot, in barracks just outside
the town, and we have two near-by houses, or rather hovels, one
for a workshop and another for a kitchen. Gibily and I occupy
a little dugout near by, a remnant of the days when Sermoise was
much nearer the front than it is now.

ARTHUR J. PUTNAM*

*Of Deposit, New York; Cornell; served in Section Nineteen
of the Field Service; Chef of S.S.U. Seventy; Lieutenant
of Section Eighteen, and of Section Six-Thirty-Six, U.S.A. Ambulance
Service, under the Army; later Captain commanding a parc.

III

IN "LA FRANCE RECONQUISE"

Noyon, July 19, 1917

THIS town, about ten miles back of the front in a part of France
which the French call "la France reconquise," was
regained last spring during Hindenburg's "strategic retreat."
It was in German hands for a long time. Some of the population
who did not get away in 1914 remained. A good part of them, however,
fled before the German invasion, and only now, in 1917, are they
getting back to their homes, their shops, and their little pieces
of land. When the Germans left, they took all the gold ornaments
out of the cathedral, along with everything else of value they
could lay hands on. They had started to take the chimes, but had
so much trouble in trying to get the bells down out of the spires
that they had to leave them. They had begun, too, boring holes
for powder charges in order to blow the place up. But the French
cavalry got in here much sooner than the Boches expected; so the
latter left in an immense hurry, and had to abandon, just outside
the town, a number of cumbersome wagonloads of stuff which they
had stolen. They carried off, however, all men and boys between
the ages of sixteen and fifty. What household goods they couldn't
take with them, they smashed up with axes. All edibles were taken,
and the peasants had all their chickens, cows, rabbits, etc.,
stolen. But the most wanton act of all was the cutting down or
encircling of all the orchards. Many of the shade trees, the poplars
which line the roads, and the, like, were similarly destroyed
--- a thing which could have no possible military value, particularly
when the trees were only encircled and not cut down. All the water
was poisoned, and much of it is still unfit to drink. Many of
the houses, especially those along the banks of the small stream
which runs through the place, were blown up. Innumerable traps
were set to kill or maim unsuspecting soldiers or civilians ---
grenades which exploded when the door was opened, and the like.
The worst thing they did was to take off numbers of young girls
and women with them when they retreated.

The thing that astounds one the most is the vast amount of
underground tunnelling done. Everything from the front-line trenches
back seems to be connected by tunnels. In the front lines there
are deep dugouts every little way, which go down some twenty feet
underground, and are protected by alternate layers of timber and
earth on top. There are also very deep special cement dugouts
for the storing of munitions. The lines of communication toward
the rear are quite as remarkable. The whole network becomes a
vast maze, burrowed and tunnelled under, until I should think
it would be utterly incomprehensible. Scattered all around between
the front lines and the town are very cleverly concealed machine-gun
positions, with tunnels leading from them to the trench positions,
so that one could go into them without being observed by the enemy.

Lassigny itself is literally burrowed like a prairie-dog town
with its labyrinths of abris and tunnels. Every cellar
has been deepened and reinforced from the top --- usually with
timbers and rocks of the fallen walls.

One of the most tragic things I have seen in France was a little
shop in Lassigny. Although the house had received no direct hit,
the roof had been blown open in many places by the force of near-by
concussions and the tiles ripped off, while the interior had pretty
much disappeared --- probably for firewood, and there was left
only a crude earth floor. The place had formerly been a little
café, and now that the Germans had gone, the woman, who,
with her husband, had once run it, had come back to find almost
nothing left, not even doors or windows, for long ago they had
been smashed out. Her husband and sons were fighting in the army.
But, with the fortitude that is French, she had started out to
set up her shop again, even in these miserable surroundings. A
few rough army tables and some benches had been procured from
somewhere and were set on the bare ground just inside the door.
In what was left of one of the rooms Madame had set up a stove.
Her barrels of wine and her supplies were placed around inside.
She and her sister did the cooking and serving for whoever happened
to come that way ---ourselves among them. And the remarkable thing
was that she could turn out a very good meal. Somehow one would
expect persons in this sort of situation to be more or less gloomy
or morose. But these poor people, driven from their homes so long
ago, are not. They are happy, are glad to be back --- satisfied,
I suppose, even to be alive. This endurance and bravery of the
French women in the face of the most terrible hardships is something
splendid. This improvised café, with its rusted, battered
sign of a walking rabbit, well punctured with holes, and these
women who had come back with willingness and a smile to try to
get together and rebuild the work of a lifetime, will always represent
to me the essence of the spirit of France.

In the village we met a couple of old poilus who insisted
on showing us the town, particularly the graveyard, which was
on a rise in back of the place. The Germans had strung barbed
wire through it, and it being a commanding position, had placed
a nest of machine guns there. A number of French shells had also
lit there, smashing up a number of the graves. The exhibit, however,
was the fact that the Germans had dug into about half the graves
and removed the lead linings from the coffins, as they
are in great need of lead. Some time just before the war, the
Mayor of Lassigny had died and been buried in a vault. The Germans
broke into it, chiselled a small hole, about four inches wide
and a foot and a half long, in the side of the steel casket, and
then reached in and removed the rings from the dead man's fingers.
There was no doubt. The telltale hole above the hand spoke louder
than words. Kultur is a great thing.

These same Germans took the statues of all the saints from
the church and had put them in a graveyard for German dead, just
on the edge of the town back of a large wall. When they left they
blew up the church.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . .

A GENERAL AND A REFUGEE

Later --- Sermoise

LANCE went over to visit the old castle at Septmonts a couple
of days ago, and while in that town he met a bent, old peasant
woman who was a refugee from Craonne, where she had continued
living, close as it was to the lines, after the German occupation.
When the French attacked so terribly there this spring, the Boches
were forced to retire, but not until they had rounded up the civilians
and herded them out of the place. But somehow in the scramble
this old woman got lost and took refuge in a cellar, where she
stayed during the bombardment by both sides, being afraid to come
out. Finally, the French found her in a deplorable state, and
took her back to the État-Mqjor of the Corps
d'Armée, where, she said, the General asked her various
facts about the Germans. "And then, monsieur," she said
to Lance as the tears streamed down her face, "the General
himself took me beside him in his big automobile, drove me all
the way down here, and installed me in the home of some of his,
friends --- moi, I rode beside the great General all the
way!" It was the proudest moment of her life; and it shows,
too, the fineness and inherent kindness, even in the littlest
things, that is continually encountered in the French, from the
most lowly poilu up to the highest officer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . .

PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK

Sermoise, October 9

THIS sector is livening up considerably. The other night a
camion convoy came up as far as the road between Aizy and
Jouy --- a very bad spot, and was engaged in unloading some munitions
when a shell came in and wounded two of their fellows, Lamont
and Thompson. They apparently did n't know about our poste,
a few hundred metres away in Aizy, for they sent clear down
to the reserve poste in Vailly for a car. There was an
awful lot of excitement for a while, for about all the news we
got was that two Americans, supposedly of our Section, had been
wounded. One of the cars went up and brought them back. Lamont
was very badly hurt, having had his hand cut off, and was suffering
greatly.

New cannon, machine guns, and trench mortars come into the
sector every night. The roads are jammed and packed from dark
until one and two in the morning with convoys, and driving is
terribly hard. At every moment we get held up on the road, and
usually at some of the worst spots, such as "Suicide Corner"
at Aizy, or the gendarme poste at the cross-roads on the
hill or down by the railroad track between these two places in
the valley. In addition, there is always a fog toward morning,
which makes it next to impossible to see anything, and we just
have to go groping along yelling, "à droite !"
hoping we won't bump anything. Artillery caissons often appear
very suddenly out of the fog. If we hear anything definitely,
which is seldom (for the guns are never entirely still), we give
a quick flash with a pocket-light on the left side of the car
to show our position.

Sermoise, Wednesday, October 17

IT is wonderfully fine October weather, with a tinge of cold
in the air. The sunshine has broken through and dispelled, little
by little, the crisp haze that lay over the land. The sky is intensely
blue with great fleecy clouds floating high, and the mud that
we have been wallowing in for the past week is fast drying. So
we have been living a very enjoyable life ---when not on duty
at poste! Nearly every one has made a purchase of a gasoline
vapor stove. At night, in groups of four or five, we take our
grub to our cars and eat there, and afterwards toast bread over
the stove, get out the jam to go on it, and make chocolate. It
is quite warm and comfortable inside with all the doors closed
and the stove going; but outside during the past week it has been
miserable. We were up to our necks in mud, slippery, without bottom,
and ever-present. Nearly every car had to have some aid in pushing
when it left, as our parking ground under these trees has become
a veritable sea of boue. Nobody is sleeping in his car
now because of the cold at night, and we only have half a barrack,
which makes us very crowded.

This evening the fire of the artillery has greatly increased.
The big railway guns and those on the canal boats are all in position.
The thunder of the cannon this evening sounded like waves in a
high sea running against a rocky shore --- long intervals of low,
rushing sound, and then heavy, reverberating crashes. All day
our barrack has been vibrating and shaking from the rush of sound
and volume of air. One is lulled to sleep by the monotonous beating,
just as if he were on the seashore.

Sermoise, October 18

WOKE up early this morning to hear it raining! More mud, more
gloom. The weather cleared a little after noon, and while the
low clouds were still wavering, the "sausage balloons"
went up, and soon countless aeroplanes appeared. The sky was soon
clear and the sun bright, though a fine October haze still rendered
indistinct the distant hills. Then, indeed, with the planes to
spot for them, did the guns cut loose, filling the air with a
continual set of reverberations --- punctuated by the medium-sized
guns, which boomed dully with a rush of wind, such as one experiences
when going through a tunnel on a fast train, and split every now
and then by the crashing of the great marine or railway artillery.

About a quarter past five, just after the sun had set behind
the hills on this side of the Aisne ---although it was still shining
with long, slanting rays on the high plain beyond --- we went
out on the heights to view the spectacle. The day was indescribably
wonderful --- the October haze mingling blue with the smoke of
a thousand guns and streaking into the dim distance to the wooded
hills up beyond the Aisne. At our feet was spread out the ruined
village of Sermoise, picturesque and beautiful, the spire of its
ruined church rising above it, its gray walls and battered buildings
standing out in cameo-like distinctness, and its red roofs ---
where there were still roofs! --- seeming redder than ever in
this light. The poplars that line the Grande Route were splotched
with the yellow of the falling leaves.

Down in the valley of the Aisne and on up the ravines toward
the lines the guns flashed everywhere to the accompaniment of
the rumble, rising or falling, increasing or subsiding. We could
see the great railway guns between Missy-sur-Aisne and Condé
firing --- first a long red flash, then a great burst of gray
smoke, and finally, three or four seconds later, a deafening,
thunderous boom that seemed to tear asunder the whole air.

We walked up on the hill with a good pair of field-glasses,
in hopes of seeing again the shell-bursts about Fort Malmaison.
But it was too dark. However, the bird's-eye view of the whole
attack was marvellous --- a sea of red flashes below us, red signal
rockets occasionally sailing up over the lines, and the interminable
pageant of star-shells commencing at dusk. Back of us in the west
was the last vestige of a red sunset, with purple clouds above
that shaded off into the fading blue sky. In front of us the "sausages"
hung with a haze about them that made them look even larger ---
huge, porpoise-like, calm, their sides bright in high air in the
last vestige of sunlight. Then darkness came and still they hung
there ---huge, monstrous bats above the scene of battle.

It is now late at night, and the artillery still continues
its rolling, rushing, surging noise, and the sky is ever lit with
the lightning-like, merging flashes of the guns, the flicker of
the star-shells.

THE ATTACK ON MALMAISON, OCTOBER 23, 1917

Sermoise, October 25

AM back at camp again after fifty-two hours of service at postes,
with probably not more than twelve or fourteen hours of sleep,
snatched at odd intervals, during the whole attack. For the first
twenty-four hours the whole Section was "rolling"; then
the cars which were on duty the night before the attack were sent
back to camp, and as they came up again the rest were relieved.
I have just got up this evening after sleeping all afternoon,
and feel in fairly good shape.

At eight on the morning of the 23d --- the attack began at
five --- the wounded began to stream down the roads to the postes
--- zouaves, bleeding beneath their hasty bandages, but the proud
fire of victory still in their eyes; childish, black, wounded
Somalis with uncomprehending pain written in their faces; men
with arm wounds helping men with foot wounds; and wounded Frenchmen
supporting still more badly wounded Germans, and vice versa. There
is a camaraderie of suffering that knows no law and no country.
All, all came down the roads leading from the front --- human
wrecks, the jetsam of the battle. The postes were crowded
to overflowing, and still they came. They staggered in and sat
on the fallen stones about the poste, their heads in their
hands, waiting to be tended and ticketed and sent back; they came
in wheel-stretchers from the front, and they came in horse ambulances
from the spots where they had fallen in the lines. Frequently
they were dead when taken out at the poste, and were carried
aside to a yard that was used for a morgue. All those who could
walk had to do so; had to go farther down until they were picked
up by the camions. During the morning we could only take
couchés inside the cars. The assis had to
crowd outside, on the fenders, on the hoods, anywhere. Several
times we took as many as twelve in one car. German and Frenchman
went alike --- all according to the seriousness of the wounds.

In addition to this the roads were frequently packed with lines
of gray, haggard prisoners--- hundreds of them. The first bunch
that came down the doctors grabbed and put to work to help the
tired brancardiers, and from then on they loaded all our
cars. They soon "caught on," and worked willingly and
well. The postes overflowed and the doctors were tired
and overworked and half-sick from the strain of the days before
the attack. The ambulances were backed up, filled, and immediately
left, and others soon rolled up to take their places. The road
to the hospital was like a section convoy. You passed countless
ambulances coming and going in an almost steady line. The hospital
at Cerseuil was soon overcrowded. The traffic got jammed; there
was a line of ambulances half a mile long waiting to unload; and
often you had to wait an hour before you could get through the
mess. It was a struggle to get stretchers, and all of them were
bloody and uncleaned.

The first day we kept going without tiring at all, sustained
by the excitement of the affair, the wounded streaming back on
the roads, the prisoners, and the continual roar of the guns about
us. Such excitement keys you up to such a point that you don't
care what happens; somehow your fear is lost; you scarcely duck
when shells come over --- a thing that is almost involuntary in
ordinary times. If I should be killed, I would want to be killed
at a time like this, when your heart is full to the overflowing,
your nerves keyed up to the limit, when victory and excitement
are in the air, when the suffering of others would make you count
your own as nothing, and sacrifice would seem a privilege.

Toward the end of the second day we were about all in, and
all the fellows who were on duty before the attack began were
sent back for rest. The principal reason we had been kept going
was because Pierre, our cook, came up to the front with a camp
stove, a coffee boiler, and the canned food, and worked day and
night, with the aid of the cognac supply, and served us something
hot every time we rolled in. He fell asleep against his stove
once, but was shortly awakened when the wood under him smouldered
and caught fire. " Bluebeard," the mechanic, put him
out with the water bucket. He has been quite funny the whole time,
and continually called out to himself: "En avant toujours,
Pierre!"

AN AMBULANCE "POSTE"
AT CAPPY-SUR-SOMME

By the way, toward the end of the attack the Médecin
Chef at Jouy got disgusted with the French ambulances, and
sent down word for them to send up no more as long as there were
any American ones --- which we considered quite a compliment.

Sermoise, October 27

YESTERDAY was my birthday, and I celebrated by going up to
Fort Malmaison. It was a gray day. The ground around the lines
and in No Man's Land is nothing but a series of overlapping shell-holes
--- a waste. It looks, as far as the eye can see, as if it had
been turned over time and again by a giant plough. The German
first lines are so battered that it is almost impossible to tell
them from the surrounding terrain. Nothing is left of the barbed
wire save torn and buried tangles here and there. There is not
a vestige of the Chemin des Dames. In fact to walk at all you
have to pick your way along the ridges of overturned earth between
the overlapping shell-holes. The world on this plateau, as far
as the eye can reach, is nothing but chaos. The marvel is how
the attacking troops themselves ever advanced over it.

An amusing incident occurred to-day with Davis as principal
actor. He was going up to Fort Malmaison for a visit when he ran
into the General of the Army, General Maistre, who was in charge
of the attack, and his staff. One of the staff came over to him
and asked him the inevitable "Anglais?" "Américain,"
he replied. At this General Maistre burst forth in praise
and rushed over and shook Davis by the hand, saying something
which had the general trend of "Américain---conducteur
d'ambulance --- très bon --- bon service --- toujours au
front, " --- I suppose adding the usual line about "méfiance
de danger --- beaucoup de bombardement --- sang-froid --- admiration
de tous ---postes avancées très encombrées."

Vierzy, October 30

THIS has been a day of full hearts! In the first place, the
Section is disbanded, and we have moved up here to Vierzy to the
parc, where we have turned in our Fiat voitures.
To-morrow we are to go to Paris, where the Section will be broken
up, part of us taking over Section Eighteen, the rest going to
Section Sixteen, and the others who did not join the Army scattering
to the four winds.

ROBERT A. DONALDSON*

*The above are extracts from an unpublished diary.

NOTE. --- When the U.S.A. Ambulance Service took over
the Field Service sections, Section Seventy, which up to this
time had used ambulances loaned by the French Army, was disintegrated.
The officers and twenty-four men of the Section were transferred
to the Field Service cars of old Section Eighteen, which a little
later was renumbered Six-Thirty-Six. Eleven members of the original
Section Seventy were attached to Field Service Section Sixteen,
which became, under the U.S. Army, Section Six-Thirty-Four.

SECTION THIRTY-ONE left the training-camp at May-en-Multien
July 24,1917, and after getting their cars in Paris, proceeded
via Vitry-le-François to Bar-le-Duc. After a few
days it left there for the little village of Erize-la-Petite
on the road to Verdun. Here the Section was attached to a division,
and on August 10 left for Récicourt, which village was
its base during the Verdun attack. Postes were served
in the sector of the Bois d'Avocourt and Hill 304. The Section
was relieved on August 18, and went back to Erize. On September
13 it was attached to the 14th Division, and shortly afterward
enlisted in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service, becoming Section Six-Forty-Three.

What calls to the heart, and the heart has heard,
Speaks, and the soul has obeyed the word,
Summons, and all the years advance,
And the world goes forward with France --- with France?
Who called?

"The Flags of France!"

GRACE E. CHANNING

I

MAY-EN-MULTIEN TO BAR-LE-DUC

SECTION THIRTY-ONE began unceremoniously on July 24, 1917,
with the publication of the list of drivers who had been receiving
instruction at the old mill of May-en-Multien. The following morning
the Section left the mill for Paris, to take out the Ford ambulances
which had been donated to the Service by generous members of the
New York Cotton Exchange. Here we first met Chef C. C.
Battershell, an old Section Thirteen man. Another day was spent
in adding final equipment to the cars, and on the morning of July
27 the Section left for Bar-le-Duc and "points north."
Finally, on July 31, we left Bar-le-Duc for Erize-la-Petite to
await assignment to a Division.

ERIZE-LA-PETITE is a little village of some thirty ex-houses
strung out along the "Sacred Way" to Verdun, about twenty
kilometres north of Bar-le-Duc, and which received its share of
"strafing" during the Battle of the Marne. Here the
fellows found quarters in one of the less damaged barns, which
proved to be an entomologist's paradise. Here we waited for twelve
days, bathing, playing ball, putting a final polish on the cars,
and watching the "Broadway and 34th Street " traffic
flow through the little town.

This traffic in itself deserves a word in passing. just north
of Erize the great highway begins to branch out into the various
roads leading to the Verdun front. Through the town runs the main
road from Bar over which the greater part of the troops and supplies
going to Verdun passed. It was the privilege of the Section to
observe this road for many days before the fall attack of 1917,
when cannon of every calibre, from the tiny trench "37's"
to the huge eight-wheeled "220" mortars, cavalry, engineers,
pontoons, artillery, ambulances, ravitaillement, mitrailleuses,
passed by, singly or in convoy a steady stream of every conceivable
means of conveyance from Rolls-Royces to donkeys. But these were
only incidental to the real traffic of the road --- the endless
lines of troop-laden camions pressing forward or coming
back. And "endless" is no idle figure, for during days
after days they passed in double line, a camion. every
fifteen yards, twenty-five men to the machine, hour in, hour out,
soldiers all gray with mud or dust, sometimes singing and sometimes
grave, but with an ever-ready greeting for "les américains,"
if any of our fellows were in sight.

At first this greeting was returned as regularly as it was
given; but after a few hours one's very arm became tired, and
finally we only watched the trains with half-indifference, on
the lookout for refugees, "75's" or whatnot, that might
be sandwiched in between the trucks. Lessening of interest in
the camions or their contents, however, was somewhat replaced
by the sobering --- rather, even depressing --- effect of watching
what seemed like half the men of the world on their way to battle,
or of being awakened for a moment late at night or in the early
dawn and to hear still the swish and rush of the passing camion
trains, regular as the waves on a lonely shore. It gave one for
the first time some appreciation of the immensity of the war.

A little later was confirmed the rumor, to which the immense
traffic lent weight, that a general attack was forthcoming on
the whole Verdun front. It was with the greatest delight that
the Section learned of its attachment to the 25th Division to
do front work during this event. So on the evening of August 10
the men were put through a rigid gas-mask inspection, received
final instructions, and early the following morning we started
to join the troops holding the trenches in the Verdun sector in
front of Avocourt and to the left of Hill 304.

Quarters were first found in a military barracks at Ville-sur-Cousances
well beyond the range of fire; but that the postes might
be more accessible, it was deemed advisable later in the day to
move forward to Récicourt where the fellows were housed
in an abri --- an old wine cellar --- protection necessitated
by the daily shelling which the Germans accorded the town. Here
the Section remained as long as it was with the 25th Division.

RÉCICOURT --- BOIS D'AVOCOURT
--- HILL 304

THE postes which were served during the preparation
for the attack were all in the Bois d'Avocourt which covered the
rolling ground before Récicourt and served to conceal the
largest part of the artillery of both the Avocourt and Hill 304
sectors of the line. As far out in these woods as it was possible
for a car to remain with reasonable safety was "Poste2," where two cars waited for blessés,
the greater part of whom were carried from here, or, on a call,
from the other forward postes. These were "P. J. Gauche,"forward and to the left of "P. 2," and "P.
J. Droit" and "P. 3" to the right, which were too
"warm" and too scantily protected at that time to warrant
a car remaining longer than was just necessary for loading the
wounded. These four postes spread out fanlike in front
of a fifth, "P. 4," which, though somewhat to the rear
and primarily intended as a station for the relief cars of the
outposts, nevertheless furnished an appreciable number of wounded
engineers and artillerymen. All of these blessés were
evacuated to the triage at Brocourt.

The roads connecting the various postes,
despite the constant reparation of shell-holes and clearance
of fallen trees and wagon debris, were very bad, and, what
was worse, were quite black at night. If there was any moon, it
was always hidden by clouds --- and overhanging trees, which lined
almost the whole of the way, and shrouded the major part of any
illumination furnished by the starshells or constant cannonading.
Furthermore, during the first few days, through lack of familiarity
with both the French language and the route, there was an epidemic
of lost roads. One car spent a heated two hours wandering through
the Bois-de-Hesse, while another, in broad daylight, ran past
the poste at "P. J. Gauche" and almost succeeded
in reaching the trenches before it was stopped by some astonished
officers. Nor did our troubles stop here; for later, even when
the men became better acquainted with the route, the cars, as
soon as it was dark, seemed to develop an uncanny magnetic attraction
for ditches or ammunition wagons, of which there were legions.

GAS AND MISFORTUNES

THE cars served the postes without serious misfortune
until the French bombardment reached its height on the evening
of August 13. Until then the German reply had been rather haphazard
and desultory, but at about seven o'clock the Boches began a more
concerted attack inaugurated by an extremely heavy general high-explosive
fire which continued until about ten-thirty. Then came a rain
of gas-shells, which did not abate until well past midnight and
which was followed in turn by a second salvo of high explosives.
The night was rainless and fairly calm, so that the heavy, poisonous
gases, "mustard," "chocolate," chlorine, and
a new gas which burned the flesh, clung close to the trees and
underbrush and settled in dense fogs in the little valleys between
the low hills over the whole of the Bois d'Avocourt. The French
cannon were almost silenced that night; but morning brought some
relief in the form of a light breeze, and the batteries gradually
reopened fire, to continue the preparation for the attack which
turned out so successfully.

But that gas attack spelt the nemesis of the service of Section
Thirty-One with the 25th Division. Mills and Loomis had been on
call at the outpost during the evening and at eleven o'clock were
both sent to "P. J. Droit" for some wounded engineers.
When the blessés had been found, both of our men
started for the triage; but in the meantime, at a crossroads
in one of the little valleys between the outposts and "P.
4," an ammunition wagon train had been smashed during the
high-explosive fire earlier in the evening, blocking the road
with débris, and before the way could be cleared,
the gas attack began, when the drivers of the ravitaillement
and ammunition wagons, forced to cut loose their horses and
find what shelter they could, blocked the road until daylight.
Into this mess ran Mills and Loomis with their blessés,
Mills badly damaging his car in the dark before he could discover
the heaped-up wagons and dead animals. As soon as they had determined
the extent of the blockade and being unacquainted with any road
by which it might be circumvented, they decided to find shelter
for their blessés and if possible send for relief.
They discovered an artillery abri for the wounded, but
could find no means of communication either to "P. 4"
or to Récicourt and so remained until morning with their
men. After waiting until past midnight without word, the Chef
had a presentiment that the outpost drivers might be in difficulty,
and so decided to investigate with the aid of the relief cars
at "P. 4." But it proving impossible to find a way about
in the heavy gas fog, to say nothing of assisting a possible damaged
car beyond, the squad returned to "P. 4" to await daylight.

Meanwhile at Récicourt a call for special cars came
by telephone from the outposts. Bingham had returned earlier in
the evening from a call a little beyond "P. 4" with
a report of the extent of the gas, and so, uninformed of the seriousness
of the obstruction, though cognizant of the general condition
of the road, Sous-Chef Mueller organized a squad of five
cars, to answer this special call. When, however, this squad reached
the blockade, they too realized the hopelessness of the situation,
and while the men did finally succeed in climbing over the dead
horses and wagon débris, leaving the cars behind,
the gas was so bad that they, too, before they could return, were
forced to seek shelter in an abri. At daybreak the squad,
by using an artillery road to circumvent the obstruction, succeeded
in bringing all of the wounded, unharmed, to the triage.
By nine o'clock that morning the engineers had cleared a way,
regular runs were reëstablished, and we were congratulating
ourselves on our singular good fortune, for apparently the drivers
on service the previous night had escaped unharmed, when during
the afternoon they began to suffer extreme nausea, cramps, and
flesh burns, and by evening were quite ill. In fact, over half
the Section was thrown out of service, and despite the assistance
of Section Seventeen and lessening of the work the following day,
the men were too exhausted or ill to carry on much longer; so
on August 17 Lieutenant Maillard asked that the Section be relieved.

The following morning another section arrived as relief and
Section Thirty-One returned to Erize-la-Petite for an indefinite
repos. During the afternoon Dr. Gluge very kindly came
down from the hospital at Chaumont to give the men an examination,
and while he pronounced their condition serious, he said that
with attention all would successfully recover without harmful
aftereffects. Six men were ordered to the hospital, while the
remaining sick, who were not so badly affected, reported for daily
treatment only; and at the end of two weeks all but two were on
their feet again.

EN REPOS AGAIN

IN the meantime we learned of the fall to the French of Avocourt,
Hill 394, Hill 344, and the resistance of the impregnable Mort
Homme, and during the following week the "Sacred Way"
was again crowded with traffic; but now the camions were
full of prisoners and the returning victorious French, ever joyous,
and loaded with souvenirs of the attack.

Time dragged in Erize for a while, but the men recuperating
in a splendid manner, soon the old ball games, trips to Bar or
Rembercourt, or lazy observances of the traffic, became the order
of the day. Twice Boche avions attempted to bomb Bar-le-Duc,
and on August 26 did bomb a near-by camp of Bulgarian road-menders
and even honored little Erize with a machine-gun fusillade. But
aside from these diversions, little disturbed the calm until September
13, when the Section learned that it had been attached to the
14th Division, which it was later to serve at Mort Homme. The
following day we moved to Condé to join this Division,
which was en repos there and in adjacent villages. Splendid
quarters were found in an old hospital barracks, and here the
men stayed until October 4, evacuating malades to Bar-le-Duc,
which was later so successfully bombed. Life there was very pleasant,
indeed, as the Division was most hospitable and courteous in its
reception of us. The men off service were frequently invited to
participate in the hand-grenade or machine-gun practice of the
various companies or to give a Rugby game for the Division team
or to take part in the variety theatricals played in a near-by
barracks. But before the piece under way could be given, Section
Thirty-One was relegated to history, for on September 22, 1917,
the United States recruiting officers arrived to take over the
Service.

KENT DUNLAP HAGLER*

*Of Springfield, Illinois; Harvard, '18; served in Section
Thirty-One and in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service with the French
Army during the war.

II

FROM THE NOTES OF THE CHEF

Erize-la-Petite, August 19, 1917

WE went into the sector near Hill 304 on August 11 and were
cantoned in a village, Récicourt, that was under shell-fire
all the time. In fact there was never a night when there was more
than a two hours' interval between shells, and part of the time
we were shelled continually. We had no abris, except a
couple of makeshift affairs, which, besides being unsafe, were
so wet and muddy that it was impossible for the men to sleep in
them. On two occasions when gas-shells were used, one was compelled
to use a gas-mask even in the village. I felt pretty anxious about
this, and tried to get our cantonment farther back, for when men
are working under fire it is only fair that, between times on
duty, they be allowed rest at some place where they may feel reasonably
safe. However, they got along all right with the work in spite
of the fact that the shell-fire was so hot that driving would
have tried the nerves of even an experienced Section.

A "POSTE DE SECOURS"
AT MONTAUVILLE

On the night of August 13, we had a call for four cars, and
though I heard the enemy was using gas, I took the cars up, only
to find the road so blockaded that I left them at the poste
de secours and came back to telephone that we were unable
to reach the farther postes, but would keep cars near the,
blockade to bring back any blessés whom they could
fetch to us there. In the meantime I found that Mueller had taken
five cars out to meet a guide, sent by the Médecin Divisionnaire,
who was to show him where the cars were needed. Mueller got as
far as the blockade, where the gas was so thick that he took the
five men and walked through to try to find the guide. But when
he saw that the guide was not there to meet him, he waited until
the gas cleared a little, then got about thirty-five blessés
who had been injured by the gas at a near-by artillery poste,
and brought them back. I would like to say a word commending Mueller
for his work that night, for he had charge of those five new men
and it was due to his efforts that they ever came out alive.

Well, there was the usual number of narrow escapes, for the
fire was exceptionally heavy that night. We had two cars slightly
damaged by shells and Lieutenant Maillard's staff car was ruined
by one. Luckily we did not have a man hurt, except by gas, and
yet in all the time I have been at the front I don't believe I
have seen a more strenuous night. All the soldiers say that it
is the worst gas attack they have ever experienced, and it was
estimated that about ten thousand gas-shells were thrown into
our sector. It was the new gas they used that did the harm, for
besides being an asphyxiant, this gas has a nauseating effect
which causes a man, who may get only a little of it, to vomit
for several days after. It also makes the body break out with
small sores. The next day I found we had suffered from the gas
to the extent of having eleven drivers too ill to work.

I doubt if we have a section in the Service which has had a
more severe test on its initial work at the front, and I am proud
of the boys and the effort they made.

C. C. BATTERSHELL*

*Of Milton, Illinois; born 1890; Whipple Academy, '10; American
Field Service, Sections Thirteen and Thirty-One; First Lieutenant
U.S.A. Ambulance Service in France during the war. The above
report was written to Field Service Headquarters and is a fair
sample of the scores of letters of this kind found in the archives.

III

SUMMARY OF THE SECTION'S HISTORY
UNDER THE UNITED STATES ARMY

SEPTEMBER 23, 1917, Section Thirty-One, while in Condé-en-Barrois,
signed with the American Army and became S.S.U. Six-Forty-Three.
October 2 it relieved S.S.U. Fifteen at Jouy-en-Argonne, serving
on the left bank of the Meuse with the 14th French Division. Line
postes at Hills 232, 239, Montzéville, Marre, and
Chattancourt. During November five cars were detached to assist
S.S.U. Thirty during the attack on Hill 344. January 4, 1918,
the Section was relieved by S.S.A. Four, and Six-Forty-Three conveyed
to Velaines, where it was detached from the 14th Division which
continued its way to the Vosges, two armies distant. Two weeks
were spent at Savonnières en repos, and then the
Section proceeded to Souilly, where it did evacuation work for
the Second Army for a period of three weeks.

February 2 the Section went en repos at the Bois de
Ravigny. On account of the Section being quarantined for diphtheria,
it was six weeks before moving to the casernes at Bévaux.
Two months were spent on the right bank of the Meuse doing line
work for the 20th French Division at the following postes:
Carrière d'Haudromont, Berges, Nice, and several call
postes. From March, 1918, until March, 1919. the Section
was attached to the 20th Division. In April, 1918, Lieutenant
Battershell was replaced by Samuel S. Seward. The middle of May
found the Section en repos at Ligny-en-Barrois, where it
stayed for six days. May 28 the 20th Division and Section Six-Forty-Three
were ordered post-haste northward to stop the gap made by the
Boches on Chemin des Dames. The first Division to arrive on the
scene on May 29 was the 20th and it got almost as far as Ville-en-Tardenois
when it had to fall back.

For two days, though resisting stiffly, they were obliged to
drop back until, on the night of the 30th, they crossed the Marne
just to the right of Château-Thierry. The battles of Villers-Agron
and of Jaulgonne are given high significance in the history of
this German drive and here the Section did good work sticking
with the line units and being obliged to evacuate its blessés
sixty kilometres.

During the retreat Section cantonments were at Varennes, Baulne,
and Celle-les-Condé. The month of June was spent working
postes along the Marne from Celle-les-Condé as a
headquarters. While here the 3d American Division joined the 20th
French, and Six-Forty-Three did the line work for both Divisions,
in the so-called halt of the German armies at Château-Thierry.

Leaving Celle-les-Condé, June 28, the Section proceeded
to Dammartin, where it stayed for seven days with its Division
in reserve for an expected drive at Villers-Cotterets. On the
5th of July it returned to the Marne, taking positions in the
second line of defence between Château-Thierry and Dormans,
the Section camping at la ferme "Les Anglais."

After driving the Germans across the Marne the 20th Division
and Section Six-Forty-Three followed in active combat the ensuing
retreat to the river Vesle. The advance was made through Châtillon,
Ville-en-Tardenois, and finally stopped at the river, the Division
holding from Fismes to Jonchery. Here the Section worked postes
along the river Vesle from a cantonment at Lagery until September
1. Then the Division went en repos and the Section, making
a cantonment at Châtillon, worked twenty cars a day evacuating
for the Corps d'Armée. September 20, Division and
Section went to the Vosges, making headquarters at Saint-Dié
and Raon l'Étape. While here Section Six-Forty-Three worked
for the 82d American Division as well as their own French Division.

Taking position early in November behind Baccarat for the expected
drive against Metz, Armistice Day found the Section at Thaon-les-Vosges.
The 20th Division made a triumphal procession on the heels of
the Boches, and were the first Allies, and the men of Section
Six-Forty-Three were the first Americans to reach the Rhine, arriving
at Strasbourg on the dot of the permitted hour. After two weeks
at Strasbourg the Section and Division moved south to Schlestadt,
taking over the Rhine line, and remained here until Section Six-Forty-Three
was called into Paris for demobilization on March 13, 1919. A
Section Citation to the Order of the Division was received at
Strasbourg, November, 1918, for work on the Marne and Vesle.

GORDON F. L. ROGERS*

*Of Dedham, Massachusetts; Harvard; with Section Thirty-One
in the Field Service; in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service for the
remainder of the war.

SECTION SEVENTY-ONE took over a section of Fiat cars in Noyon
on July 31, 1917, and on August 2 was attached to the 158th Division,
en repos at Nesle, on the Somme. On August 19 it moved
to Lanchy on the Saint-Quentin front, with front postes
at Holnon, Maissemy, a relay station at Marteville, and evacuation
work at Ham, Cugny, and Noyon. The recruiting officers visited
the Section on August 29, but the Section continued under the
old régime until November, when the Fiats were abandoned;
then the men transferred to a Ford Section at Belrupt, outside
of Verdun, becoming, with what remained of Old Twenty-Nine, Section
Six-Forty-One of the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

Some pledge I could but dimly understand,
Some subtle spell, lay on the calm and clear
Blue harbor of this mute, majestic land,
And hope shone smiling in the eyes of France.

GUY WETMORE CARRYL

I

TO THE SAINT-QUENTIN FRONT

ON July 31, 1917, Section Seventy-One was formed, with Roland
R. Speers as Chef, and James S. Brown as Sous-Chef.At Noyon we were assigned to Fiat ambulances, and on August
2 we joined the 158th Division, which was then en repos
at Nesle, where we remained for nearly three weeks, passing the
time with such diversions as chatting with the fair sex of the
village, frequenting the café, and getting beaten 7 to
0 by the French divisional soccer team. As we were all craving
action, being new to the game, the news that we were to leave
for the front came as a welcome relief. In fact, on August 19
the Section moved to Lanchy on the Saint-Quentin front, where
our Division had taken over the lines.

Of all the forsaken, desolate spots we had ever seen, Lanchy
won first prize. Cold, rain, and mud added to the dismalness of
our surroundings and tended to make existence pretty unpleasant,
living as we did in tents and cellars.

The work in this sector was not very strenuous. We had two
front postes, one at Holnon, the other at Maissemy, of
one car each, with a two-car relay station at Marteville. Two
cars daily were on evacuation. This latter work was very popular,
as it took us to Ham and Cugny, the home of some American Red
Cross nurses, and sometimes as far as Noyon, with its ice-cream
parlor and cafés. As we were working in a repos
sector we did not see much action, except for a gas attack, during
which all the Section was called out. Of course, there were the
usual wild rumors of big coups de main and attacks that
were to come off "next week," but which never materialized.

Gloom descended upon us on August 31, when the United States
recruiting officers appeared to enlist men for the army; but Seventy-One
enlisted a larger proportion of its men than any other Field Service
section. Toward the end of October rumors spread that we were
to be relieved, and on November 1 an Allentown section, fresh
from America, appeared with little pasteboard-walled cars. After
two days, during which we showed them the postes, we were
ordered to leave for Noyon and turn in our cars. So glad were
we to leave Lanchy that the convoy out to Noyon, once beyond the
limits of Ham, developed into a whirlwind at which the gendarmes
could only throw up their hands in despair.

After two days of bliss in Paris, the Section was cut to twenty-five
members, who moved to Belrupt just outside of Verdun, where we
relieved the members of Section Twenty-Nine, taking over their
cars and equipment, and where we became attached to the 120th
Division and worked the poste de secours at the Carrière
d'Haudromont between Bras and Douaumont. Here, on November 22,
Way Spaulding was severely wounded in front of the abri.
During the thirty-five days at Belrupt, five of our cars were
smashed by shells and all but two cars were hit by éclats.
On December 8 we were relieved by a French Section of Fiats and
moved to Andernay en repos. On Christmas Day, with much
"crape-hanging," we donned the "choker uniforms"
and became S.S.U. Six-Forty-One of the United States Army Ambulance
Service.

PHILIP SHEPLEY*

*Of Brookline, Massachusetts; Harvard, '20; served in the
Field Service with Section Seventy-One, and subsequently in the
U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

II

GETTING TO THE FRONT

Nesle, August 6

GAS-MASKS and "tin derbies" were given out to-day,
and, with both of them on, I look like some prehistoric fish.
We were also warned by our Lieutenant regarding the new German
gas-shells. It appears that they are filled with a combination
gas, make very little noise when exploding --something on the
order of a defective giant firecracker --- and make their presence
first known by a faint smell of garlic or mustard. Now we all
run like fiends when some imaginative soul thinks he smells garlic.
At the conclusion of his speech, the Lieutenant added that the
present gas-masks were no protection against the new shells. I
wonder what we're going to use them for.

August 8

AT last we've carried our first wounded, and if the war were
to stop to-morrow, which it won't, I could at least say that I've
seen some service, even though not actually under shot and shell.
Early this morning Harry and I answered a call at Masy and transferred
two couchés from the first-aid station there to
the base hospital at Ham. The roads were terrible, and I, riding
in the back, had a chance to witness the tortures endured by the
poor devils who were bounced about in a very gruesome manner.

August 11

THIS afternoon Dick, Harry, and I visited Herly, Curchy, and
Manicourt, ruined villages to the west of the château. They
were in utter ruins, and were uninhabited save for a company or
so of our Division, who were living in the old German dugouts.
Everything was in perfect order, as the Boches were forced to
evacuate in such a hurry that they had little time for their usual
"strafing." .The dugouts, which were about eight
feet long by six feet wide and six feet deep, were lined with
thick sheet iron, on top of which were placed sandbags, then logs,
and finally a thick layer of sod, the final product being perfectly
disguised, and for a distance up to a third of a mile practically
indistinguishable from the landscape. Many of them bore upon their
walls somewhat pointed and impolite messages from the retiring
Germans to the entering Canadians. The dirty Boches had time,
however before their departure, to chop down every fruit tree
that lay anywhere near their path of retreat. I remember seeing
a photograph of this atrocity in the pictorial supplement of the
"Times" --- a devastated orchard of which, out of a
total of one hundred trees, but two remained standing. You can
imagine my interest upon finding that the original of the picture
was one of the ruined orchards at Manicourt.

WHEN CLEANLINESS IS A MYTH

WHERE ARMY-BLUE TURNS TO KHAKI!

Nesle, August 16

RATHER a humdrum day. The only outstanding event was the Lieutenant's
leaving for his permission. He made us a little speech,
during which he read us an official communication from the Division
Commander in which the latter complimented the Section upon its
general behavior and its quickness in responding to calls. When
he had finished, we were purring like so many cats!

Lanchy, August 20

PROMPTLY at eight o'clock we left our quarters and set out
for the front, destination unknown. Arrived at this town shortly
after ten and parked behind S.S. Fifty-Eight, a French section,
decorated with the Croix de Guerre for splendid work at
Verdun. As soon as the French cars leave we should get our chance
to do some of the real work for which we have been waiting.

THE FRENCH SECTION "A" TENT

August 22

S.S. FIFTY-EIGHT left at eight o'clock this morning. I might
say that until to-day we have been sleeping in our cars, secretly
envying the Frenchmen who had provided themselves with tents made
with poilu ground sheets. "Sandy," "Stew,"
and I had an opportunity, fortunately, to buy one, and very promptly
did so. It is one of the larger type, about ten feet square, well
entrenched and very sturdily put up. "Castle Cootie"
is richly luxurious compared with our cramped and somewhat scented
ambulances. We paid only fifty francs for the compartments, including
an extra roof, and though tents have been ordered for the entire
Section, I feel sure that we shall be greatly advanced in years
before they arrive. Meanwhile our purchase is the admiration of
the Section. We carried out our business transaction last evening,
and I therefore felt it my duty to be present at the departure
lest our newly acquired home were to take it into its head to
leave with them. My appearance, shivering in my B.V.D.'s, was
the signal for untold merriment. I accepted the tribute in stern
silence.

August 24

LAST night the wind did blow; also the rain pattered, dripped,
and drizzled through every possible crack and crevice in our most
esteemed tent until "Castle Cootie" was one damp puddle
of floating possessions. And yet the merry(?) patter of raindrops
is a cheery sound under even the most discouraging conditions,
and the three of us were soon wrapped in noisy but peaceful slumber.
At 2.45 A.M., by actual observation of our wrist watches, tent
number 2, owned by Messrs. Crosby, Fox, Salinger, and Spaulding,
collapsed with a piteous sigh. Muffled curses, groans, and wails.
At three, Crosby, a most heart-rending sight, indeed, crawls under
the flap of our swaying mansion, dragging behind him two wet,
muddy, and exceedingly tired blankets. His entrance was greeted
with suppressed snickers from our three cots, but he haughtily
rolled himself up in the blankets, on the muddy floor, and, no
sympathy forthcoming, silence followed. In the morning Harry presented
a never-to-be-forgotten appearance: one belly-band, a pink pajama
top, a heavy woollen undershirt, a white St. Mark's sweater, a
raveled blue sweater constructed by "Her," and, as an
outer shell, a goatskin coat; while his props were encased in
a damp, mud-bespattered pair of pajama trousers, around which
were wound, in a most uncertain manner, a pair of roll puttees!

August 25

BLUE MONDAY! It's raining as consistently as it did all day
yesterday. The tent maintains its reputation as a sieve. And a
huge mail from the States arrived, my share of which may be represented
by the latter half of the number 10. Gloom!

August 29

WONDER of wonders!! Last night's rumors were verified this
morning. Shortly before eleven, two United States officers and
a very young-looking Army doctor drove up. After lunch the Section
was addressed by Lieutenant Webster, and told that the Government
had decided to take over every independent American organization
on this side of the water. Then followed the necessary recruiting
officer's "line," telling of the advantages, joys, and
untold privileges to be derived from "signing up." We
were given an hour to make up our minds, at the end of which time
seventy per cent of the Section signed. "I'm in the army
now," rendered by Private Weeks.

August 30

STILL recovering from yesterday's dismal prospect. Suppose
this damnable war lasts for some seven years. I return, a rheumatic,
crabby old bachelor, losing my hair in bunches, to be greeted
by strange faces on all sides and the consoling news that the
object of my tenderest affections married some slacker five years
before.

REAL WORK

September 13

WE had our first real work last night. It appears that the
Boche artillery had a holiday and spent the greater part of the
evening throwing gas-shells into the second and third lines near
Holnon. Their range was good --- it always is --- and they successfully
cracked a few abris and threw things about in a most unpleasant
manner. We got a call for "several ambulances" a little
after ten, and I believe we made a record time to the poste.
When we got there a rather unpleasant sight greeted us. All about
the abri and in the forepart of the trench the ground was
covered with gasping, prostrate figures of men, their faces a
livid green, their foreheads shining with sweat, mumbling incoherently,
twisting and turning in agony. It was our first experience with
gas and one that did not tend to heighten our respect for the
Hun. The curé was among those gassed, but he refused
to accept any aid until all his men had been attended to, lapsing
into unconsciousness just as the doctor bent over him. just two-score
men gassed, an incident too trivial to be mentioned in the daily
communiqué; just one of the million unrecorded sacrifices
for which the Boches will have to pay some day.

EDWARD A. WEEKS, JR.*

*Of Elizabeth, New Jersey; Cornell, '19; served as a driver
in Section Seventy-One of the Field Service and, subsequently,
with the U.S.A. Ambulance Service. The above are extracts from
his unpublished diary.

NOTE. Early in November most of the American personnel
of Section Seventy-One, including the American Officers,
were transferred from the borrowed French cars to the Field Service
Fords of old Section Twenty-Nine. Shortly thereafter this latter
Section was renumbered by the U.S. Army, and became Section Six-Forty-One.
Under this title it continued to function until after the Armistice.

ON July 31, 1917, Section Thirty-Two left the camp at May-en-Multien
and came to Paris to get its cars. It left the city on August
2, en convoi, arriving two days later at Ablois Saint-Martin.
On August 16 it was attached to an attacking division, and moved
with the Division to Romigny, near Verdun, on August 28. The
Division remained here until October 2, when it went into line
on the Verdun front, in a sector on the Meuse River. The cantonment
of the Section was at Houdainville. It came back en repos
on November 4, and was relieved by the men who were to take over
the Section under the Army régime. Thereafter the Section
number was Six-Forty-Four of the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

And, conquering by her happiness alone,
Shall France compel the nations to be free.

S. T. COLERIDGE

I

THE NEW YORK CITY CLUB UNIT

WE of the New York City Club Unit cheered with no little envy
Sections Thirty-One and Seventy-One as they left camp for active
service. But we had to wait our turn. It came on July 31, 1917.
Early that morning Ives lined us up in the courtyard before the
office of Chef Fisher, at the old grist-mill camp, May-en-Multien.
We gave three rousing cheers for Fisher and some more for Sous-
Chef Magnus and the French Maréchal des Logis,
our drillmaster. To everybody's surprise and extreme delight the
latter then walked up to Ives and kissed him on both cheeks. The
next two days were spent in Paris struggling with our cars. They
started hard and did not run too well; however, with several cylinders
still missing we were officially designated Section Thirty-Two
of the American Field Service, Keith Vosburg, Chef in charge,
Lieutenant Miossec, of the French Army, in command, and at 8 A.M.,
on August 2, we passed through the lower garden gate at 21 rue
Raynouard in convoy on our way to the front.

Two days' driving brought us to a little village, Ablois Saint-Martin,
where we parked our cars in a chestnut grove and awaited further
orders. We were now in that indefinitely exclusive region ---
"somewhere in France." It rained incessantly and the
mud was deep. Not until Verdun, however, were we to know what
mud could be. The good housewives in whose homes we were cantoned
showed great interest in "les américains,"
in many cases calling us their adopted sons.

Orders were slow in coming. For a while three meals a day were
our principal concern. These meals were drawn from the regular
French ravitaillement, and prepared under the supervision
of our Brigadier d'Ordinance, a French attaché
whom we called "Gabby." Now Gabby was an old hand
at catering, but the American palate puzzled him. "What would
the boys like me to bring them for dessert?" he asked one
day. Some one shouted, "Lemons." Gabby looked doubtful,
but the suggestion was loudly confirmed. Sure enough that night
a basket of lemons appeared on the table. The laugh was on us
--- there was no doubt about that; but Gabby's feelings were at
stake, so the basket of lemons went slowly up and down the table,
each man solemnly taking one and stuffing it into his pocket with
the explanation that "he'd save his until he got outside
... .. Well, you zee, my dear," said Gabby, "these américains,
they are a funny lot, you zee!"

REPOS --- EXPERIMENTS IN PAINTING

To keep us out of mischief, Chef Vosburg ordered the
red crosses on our ambulances enlarged. This required red and
white paint and about four days' work. After that, no German,
no matter how near-sighted, could possibly have mistaken our identity.
Lieutenant Miossec was impressed and later inspired. He ordered
a French flag to be painted beside each red cross, the measurements
to be the same --- about two feet square. Less enthusiasm was
shown in this latter job, and when an order appeared to place
in the last remaining panel an emblem characterized by the Lieutenant
as a "Horse Sea," a shout of protest arose, but to no
avail. Some one suggested that before any more orders were issued
we had better enlarge the cars. So some of the men painted on
their radiators the trademarks of the Mercer, the Rolls-Royce,
and the Simplex. If the war had ended that week we could have
sold out to Barnum and Bailey!

Not long after this we were officially attached to an attacking
division, one that had several citations and much regained territory
to its credit. The men in it were for the most part a hard-looking,
light-hearted lot --- sons of a tropical clime.

General Pétain paid the Division a visit at about this
time. In his address he made much of its record and held out great
hopes for the future. There was much talk among the men that night
about a pending attack, in which case they all had their eyes
on the yellow fourragère. The General had spoken
well. But one little zouave, perhaps more sentimental than the
rest, said, "I guess it's time to write home." A fifty
per cent casualty list was not unusual for this Division. Soon
we packed up and moved; then, after a few days, we moved again.
Our convoys improved --- the men were beginning to know their
cars. This was fortunate because it became quite apparent that
our destination was Verdun.

Then for a while, from August 28 on, we paused --- a peaceful
interlude. We were cantoned on an old farm at Romigny abounding
in fruit trees and comprising several well-cleared fields. We
promptly laid out a diamond and organized ball teams. After playing
a minor series, we started what promised to be a spell-binding
contest. But poor old Carl Schweinler broke his leg sliding to
home plate and all bets were off.

It was while we were on this farm that the recruiting officers
called. We had long realized that our volunteer days were numbered;
that all the privately subscribed ambulances would eventually
be taken over by the United States; and that in order to continue
our work we should have to enlist as privates in the National
Army. Sixteen men enlisted, the rest of the Section remaining
as volunteers until new recruits could fill the ranks. There was
no immediate change in the organization, however.

ON THE MEUSE

OUR Division went into the line on October 2 and we established
ourselves in a little village, Houdainville, directly on the river
Meuse. In order to learn the roads six of us were detailed to
the English section that we were to relieve the following day.
Starting from the hospital we proceeded by a tree-lined boulevard
past one of the gates of Verdun. There we turned to the right
up the side of one of the surrounding hills, and just before reaching
the crest, at a point about seven kilometres from the hospital,
we came upon a series of bomb-proofs that we were to use as a
relay poste, or "cab stand," as we called it.
Less than a year before, this poste had been the most advanced
in the sector, the German lines being only a few hundred yards
away. But when we were there the distance to the lines was measured
in kilometres and we drove to our advanced postes through
this recently regained territory.

The road from the "cab stand" to the farthest poste
was terrific. For a kilometre it was broad enough, straight and
partly camouflaged, but after that it became narrow, crooked,
and very rough. The surrounding country had once been wooded,
with here and there a town, but now it was the symbol of desolation,
a few upturned stumps and shattered logs being all that remained
of a forest. As for the town sites, they were impossible to find,
the terrain resembling the moon --- a mass of overlapping
crater holes. After a rain these holes became partly filled with
stagnant water and a stench arose that was horrible in its suggestiveness.
Officially thousands upon thousands of soldiers have been reported
"missing" on these fields. But, more literally, they
have returned to clay. Such was the regained territory we traversed.
The last stretch of road ran down a jagged gulch and terminated
in a pool of filthy water. There being no room to turn around
in the gulch, we always backed our cars down. This would be quite
a feat under any circumstances because of the ever-present mud,
stones, and débris, but we usually had to do it
in total darkness, frequently in the midst of bursting shells.

The poste itself lay in a hollow at the foot of a limestone
outcrop, which had been a quarry before the Germans converted
it into a bomb-proof. It was said to be thirty feet underground,
and hence safe. That was its only virtue. Water trickled perpetually
down the walls, keeping the mean high level on the floor about
ankle-deep. Ventilation was out of the question. Acetylene gas,
chloride of lime, and the odors given out by dirty wet clothes
formed the principal constituents of the atmosphere. Three hours
in this place, particularly when it was filled with wounded, was
enough to create a splitting headache. In addition to this poste
were two others which paled by comparison. They were smaller,
cleaner, and at less distance from the "cab stand."

During the first weeks that we
worked this sector we experienced rain, snow, and fog, and we
drove in nights of utter blackness, so black in fact that it was
frequently necessary to feel one's way on foot just ahead of the
car in order to find the road. Four hours for the round trip of
fourteen kilometres was not uncommon, and there were places along
the way where a miscalculation of two feet would mean the total
loss of a car. Accidents were inevitable. Artillery caissons passing
at the gallop robbed us of tool-boxes, and mud-guards crumbled
when brought in contact with trucks, all of which was particularly
trying to the sensitive souls of those fastidious drivers who
two weeks before had tenderly removed mud from headlights and
polished scratches on hoods. No wonder, therefore, that one night
within an hour four cars were put out of commission; the most
picturesque of these turning over like a turtle on his back in
the mouth of a huge shell-hole. Several front ends were replaced
on the road and many a car was towed into the repair shop. Radiators
fell particularly easy prey to exploding shells, and during the
first ten days fourteen of our cars were pierced by éclats;
but fortunately, no one was hurt. Twenty-four hours on and twenty-four
hours off is a strenuous schedule when it lasts over a month,
and when one hundred and fifty kilometres is the average run per
man per shift; such was our existence at this time. Little wonder,
therefore, that we began to think of repos, which came
on November 4, together with the men sent to replace those who
had not enlisted.

Following quickly on the heels of this period of rest came
the welcome news of a section citation and five individual Croix
de Guerre. At the ceremony attendant on the conferring of
these honors the General of the Division made a very gracious
speech in which he said:

Some months ago, you came to us as strangers, but now the
men of my Division regard you as brothers and I look upon you
as my children. You have recently been called upon to perform
a difficult and dangerous task. Your performance has been above
criticism. In a word, you have shown yourselves to be as brave
as the men who fight in the trenches. I therefore take great
pleasure in presenting you with the highest honor that is within
my power to bestow.

GURNEE HINMAN BARRETT*

*Of New York City; Columbia, '10; served with Section Thirty-Two
of the Field Service; subsequently a First Lieutenant in the
U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

THE GARDEN OF "RUE RAYNOUARD"
IN WINTER

II

SUMMARY OF THE SECTION'S HISTORY
UNDER THE UNITED STATES ARMY

NOVEMBER 3, 1917, the Section, now relabeled Six-Forty-Four,
took part in its first engagement under American régime,
at Verdun, in the Bezonvaux sector between Forts Douaumont and
Vaux. It was in the line during a period of thirty-five days,
and evacuated 3040 blessés. Although we had no casualties
we lost two of our cars. The Section here received its first citation.

After a ten-day repos at Combles, the Division went
into the lines, again at Verdun, and captured Hill 344. We carried
4210 wounded during the ten days the Division was in the lines.
On December 3 the Section went en convoi to Bar-sur-Aube,
where it remained en repos for a period of two weeks. At
Darney we settled down for a long cold winter. On January 21 of
the new year we quit Darney, going to Custines, a small town on
the Nancy front. From here we operated postes in and around
Nomény.

The Section left this sector about the first of March for the
front near Amiens. The Division went into the lines at Villers-Bretonneux,
and the Section was cantoned directly in back of the troops, at
Petit Blangy, later at Patte d'Oie, where we camped alongside
of the main road between Amiens and Saint-Quentin. We again were
forced to move, and this time went to the Bois de Fort Manon,
where we stayed until August 2, operating postes in front
of Villers-Bretonneux and to the left of that town. We then went
to Wailly, and from there, after a few days' wait, to Cottenchy
where the Division made a joint attack with the British on their
right. The Germans were forced back to the general line of Ham,
Nesle, Roye, etc. During this attack the Section took its first
part in open warfare, as well as occupying reconquered territory
for the first time. The Division by forced marches through Maignelay,
Jonquières, and Ribécourt, went into the lines at
Chiry-Ours-camp, and, attacking, captured Noyon, then advancing
to La Fère. During this time the Section made their evacuations
in such a manner as to receive another citation.

From there the Division advanced through the towns of Chevresis,
Monceau, Parpeville, Puisieux, and thence to Hirson, in a continuation
of the Aisne-Oise offensive. The Armistice was signed the day
after the Section reached Hirson.

Returning to La Fère, we remained there until the latter
part of December, when we started en convoi for the Vosges,
preparatory to taking part in the French occupation of Germany.
We stayed in Rambervillers two weeks, and then went into reconquered
Alsace on February 14, 1919, stopping for a few days in the town
of Sarrebourg. From there the Section convoyed to Einöd,
in the Palatinate, and thence to Alsie (Hesse), Bierstadt, in
Rhenish Prussia, near Wiesbaden, and to Niederhausen, where the
Section was cantoned for two weeks or so; moving from there to
Ober Losbach. From that place started the final convoy of the
Section for Paris.

JOHN S. CLAPP*

*Of Auburndale, Massachusetts; in T.M.U. 397 during his time
with the Field Service, and in Section Six-Forty-Four of the
U.S. Ambulance Service with the French Army during the remainder
of the war.

SECTION THIRTY-THREE left for the front on August 16, 1917,
the last Field Service Section to go out. It went via Bar-le-Duc
to Issoncourt, and on September 6 to Triaucourt to join the 26th
Division. The Section was enlisted on September 25, and the next
day went to Grange-le-Comte, and shortly afterward to Clermont-en-Argonne.
Early in November it became Section Six-Forty-Five in the U.S.
Army Ambulance Service.

The land of sunshine and of song!
Her name your hearts divine;
To her the banquet's vows belong
Whose breasts have poured its wine;
Our trusty friend, our true ally
Through varied change and chance.
So, fill your flashing goblets high, --
I give you, VIVE LA FRANCE!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

I

A BRIEF CAREER WITH THE A.F.S.

A NARRATIVE Of the brief career of Section Thirty-Three has
little to offer the reader in the way of high-explosive thrills,
shell-swept roads, or hair-breadth escapes; yet the last ambulance
unit to leave rue Raynouard driving Fords must not be left "unwept,
unhonored, and unsung."

On August 16, 1917, twenty-one spick-and-span new Ford ambulances,
a staff car, and camionnette formed in hollow square in
the lower garden, and after an inspection by Mr. Andrew and some
officers of the United States Army, rolled out of the gates in
obedience to a series of unrehearsed and complicated whistle signals,
concocted by our Chef to meet the emergency. Despite the
signals and the ill-advised attempt of a car in the hands of a
green driver to climb over the car ahead and wreck the stately
trees of the garden, we passed out into the street and history,
and toward the distant battle-line.

At Montmirail we parked our cars the first night and proceeded
to get acquainted. The personnel included as our French Lieutenant,
Henry Laurent, Gordon Ware as Chef, and Bruce H. McClure,
Sous-Chef.

On the following day we reached Bar-le-Duc, where we had our
first view of an air raid, new to us, but an old story to the
inhabitants, and also our first experience with troop barracks
and army beds, with the compensation of a refreshing swim in the
canal outside of town. On August 19 we pulled out of Bar, leaving
most of our available cash in the hands of the local shopkeepers,
and rolled on to Issoncourt, where we went into camp in what was
left of a farm. A cow-stable offered quarters to those of us who
did not bunk in our cars, and here we were introduced to several
varieties of insect life that were destined to form lasting attachments
for us in the days to follow.

At Issoncourt we remained in mud and melancholy until September
6, employing our leisure in the manufacture of camp furniture,
perfecting our French, enjoying an occasional tramp over portions
of the Marne battlefield near by, and filling ourselves with several
delicious varieties of plums growing in profusion about us.

On the night of the 6th, in the midst of a howling rainstorm,
we packed up at an hour's notice and were off to join the 26th
Division of the Second Army at Triaucourt, where we arrived the
same night. Visions of immediate action stirred us, but our hopes
of high adventure received another jolt, for here we parked our
cars on either side of a main thoroughfare and remained quiescent
for eighteen long days. Some of us slept in our cars and others
found quarters in a hay-loft whose sole means of entry was a rickety
ladder, an inducement to sobriety if nothing else.

On September 25 we departed from Triaucourt with no regrets,
and after a night at Grange-le-Comte, the Section moved to Clermont-en-Argonne,
where we were soon comfortably established in one of the few comparatively
whole houses in town. The advanced postes which we served at Neuvilly
and Dervin kept us busy, and offered enough in the way of thrills,
but the fates that seem to watch over the destinies of ambulance
drivers were good to us, for despite frequent close calls, we
suffered no casualties in the Clermont sector.

BRONZE STATUETTE DESIGNED BY
A FRENCH SOLDIER,
JULIEN MONIER IN WESSERLING, ALSACE, 1916,
AS A TRIBUTE TO SECTION NINE

On the 4th day of November, S.S.U. Thirty-Three officially
passed into history and became Section Six-Forty-Five of the United
States Army Ambulance Service. Brief though its existence as a
volunteer unit may have been, Thirty-Three was thoroughly imbued
with the sentiments of the units that preceded it in the field,
and the high standards and splendid traditions of the American
Field Service in France.

ROBERT RIESER*

*Of Hoboken, New Jersey; Columbia; served with the American
Field Service for three months, 1917; subsequently with the Red
Cross in Italy and later an Aspirant, French Artillery.

II

SUMMARY OF THE SECTION'S HISTORY
UNDER THE UNITED STATES ARMY

AT the time of its militarization, the Section was in Clermont-en-Argonne,
where it remained, getting accustomed to the army life, until
Christmas Day, 1917. The month of January, 1918, was spent en
repos at Andernay, and on February 6 the Section was sent
to Houdainville, below Verdun. For six weeks or more we were extremely
busy and had many exciting moments, serving the famous postes
east of the city.

Early in April we were ordered to Sommedieue in the Woevre,
where the entire spring was passed with not an overdose of thrills.
On the 10th of August we started for Soissons, arriving after
numberless one-night stands on the 25th. Quarters were taken up
in the lowlands of the Aisne near Fontenoy. For four days and
nights our infantry attacked, and we were overwhelmed with strenuous
work. Our cars were on the road continuously, serving postes
which constantly shifted their position, and lent a nervous
uncertainty that added to the strain.

On August 29 Hess, a very fine chap, was killed by a bomb,
and Naslund and Mackie were wounded. For the work done at this
time the Section received a citation.

A ten-day rest and we were returned to the same sector to take
part in the Aisne-Oise offensive, which was only halted by the
Armistice. Descending then in convoy, we spent the winter at Forbach,
in Lorraine, where our troops were on garrison duty. The Section
left in March for Base Camp.

RICHARD C. PAINE*

*Of Boston, Massachusetts; Harvard, '17; served with Section
Thirty-Three from September, 1917, and after its militarization
with the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

SECTION SEVENTY-TWO arrived at May-en-Multien on August 6,
1917. It left for the front, driving French ambulances, on August
18, 1917. After repos of two weeks at Noyon, it was sent
to the front at Saint-Quentin. En route for this place,
it was enlisted, at Flavy-le-Martel, by the American recruiting
officers, being the first section of the Service taken over by
the U.S. Army. It continued work under the old régime
until November, when it filled in Old Section Twenty-Seven's
vacancies and took over their Fords, becoming Section Six-Thirty-Nine
of the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.

SEVENTY-TWO was the youngest son of a large family. When only
one day weaned from a dusty preliminary repos of two weeks at
Noyon, the Section undertook its first service at Saint-Quentin.
Immediately thereafter came the United States recruiting officers
offering every man the opportunity to become a private in the
American Army, but to remain with the Section in the Sanitary
Service of the French Army. One of the first groups to be visited
by these officers, we have the distinction of enlisting every
man able to meet the physical requirements, except one. Four of
the original number were rejected on physical grounds.

The last complete section sent out from the Field Service Headquarters
in Paris, we found ourselves, September 5, 1917, just emerging
from the embryo of war in the abstract into active service and
the American Army. Our personnel, with the exception of our Chef,
was composed of the young men who sailed from the docks of
the French line in New York City on two steamers, the Chicago,
leaving July 23, and the Rochambeau, leaving August
3, 1917.

Those of us who came over on the Chicago arrived in
Paris from Bordeaux on the morning of August 4, and on the afternoon
of the 6th we were transferred to May-en-Multien. The fortnight
spent at this camp will always be remembered by us as a real midsummer
idyll; for, although May was located in the now famous Marne district,
scarcely thirty-five kilometres from the Soissons front, the sound
of the cannon was only dimly heard. Here the enemy in hasty retreat
had been unable to commit his customary acts of vandalism, and
the beautiful country was practically untouched. So we received
our first taste of rural France in a lazy courtyard, surrounded
by buildings which had once been the possession of a rich miller,
trying in vain to realize that we were so near the scene of gruesome
war.

The majority of the Chicago's Field Service passengers
quartered at May preferred to drive Ford cars, and out of these
a new section, Thirty-Three, was immediately formed. When this
group left the camp for the front, the rest of us, who had spoken
for gear-shift cars, were compelled to wait until our personnel
could be increased by new men. Nine days after our arrival the
ambulance recruits from the Rochambeau came out from Paris,
and from this group we were able to fill out a complete section
of forty-nine men, and on August 18, after two days of intensive
driving on May's historic voitures, we were transported
back to Paris.

Again our stay in Paris was brief. The day after our arrival
we were lined up at rue Raynouard and informed that we would henceforth
be known as S.S.U. Seventy-Two and that we would take over a former
French section of twenty Fiats, two men to be placed on each car.

We were then introduced to our Section Commander, Chef
William Westbrook. In the early morning of the following day,
August 19, we were routed out of bed and despatched to the military
town of Noyon, in the Oise, where we were to await instructions
for joining a French division, and where our twenty cars were
lined up on the main highway to Saint-Quentin, in the heart of
the town. They were seasoned veterans, these cars, and were scarred
and battered by great campaigns. Each one, however, had been carefully
repaired at the Noyon parc before our arrival, and could
be counted on for years more of active service. Owing to the lack
of quarters, most of us had to sleep on the stretchers in these
very cars; so they became near and dear to us from the very start.

For precisely two weeks we led an absolutely useless existence,
which was principally spent in inhaling dust and exhaling epithets;
and somehow the veteran cars seemed as impatient as we were at
this forced idleness. During the first week Lieutenant Gibily,
our French commanding officer, to whom we became greatly attached,
was transferred elsewhere. He was followed by two other French
officers who came and went for reasons known to the inner circles
only. This did not tend to remove our impatience. It seemed at
times as though we were to remain without the extremely valuable
surveillance of French authority.

Saturday evening, September 1,
we received orders to move forward toward Saint-Quentin, and the
next morning the staff car, camionnette, and twenty ambulances,
with our complete equipment, moved slowly over the road in convoy,
and stopped at about noon on the outskirts of Flavy-le-Martel,
where late in the afternoon of the same day the American recruiting
officers followed us out from Noyon and formally enlisted the
entire Section, with the several justifiable exceptions mentioned
earlier. So what we at first thought meant active work at the
front, really ended only in our incorporation into the American
army, which was well enough as far as it went, but which did not
go far enough for most of us.

Our camp, which had been a prosperous stock and poultry farm
surrounding a spacious court, was cleaned up until it was made
quite comfortable. The shacks used for houses were reënforced.
Useless acetylene gas-tanks were stripped from the cars and served
as generators for truly modern lighting systems. Stoves for winter
we found among deserted ruins. Daily the cantonment and court
were swept and cleaned furiously. But none of us lost in weight,
thanks to work enough for appetite and good food. The historian
is compelled to be truthful and admit that Section Seventy-Two's
story ends where most others begin. Our work came after Section
Seventy-Two of the Field Service was combined with S.S.U. Twenty-Seven,
and had become Section Six-Thirty-Nine of the United States Army
Ambulance Service.

JOHN H. WOOLVERTON*

*Of Trenton, New Jersey; Dartmouth; served with Section Seventy-Two
from August, 1917, and continued in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service
during the war.